Only Kenny
by kvetsh
Summary: Only Kenny could make someone such as you, Craig Tucker, feel this way.


So basically, this is my first story on Fanfiction. It's Crenny, my favorite pairing and I really hope you enjoy. Leave a review or whatever - thanks. c;

Warning: It has... smut, I guess. Not anything too bad. But there's your warning.

I don't own South Park, unfortunately. It all belongs to Trey and Matt.

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It was always… slow - slow and sensual and overall simply mind blowing. You had no idea how the other could make you feel this way, how he could make you feel things you'd never felt with any other lover or anything of the sort. It was crazy, it was mind bending, and it was, in some ways, love.

Just the way the other would run long, slender fingers gently against your skin as if it was a dance while his eyes steadily moved across your ever-so pale skin as if he was memorizing some map of your body as if he hadn't seen it hundreds of times before. Every touch sparked something deep within you; every loving, smoldering look in those baby blues set your insides on fire and made your heart tighten in your chest.

Only Kenny.

_Only Kenny_

Only he could make someone such as you, Craig Tucker, feel this way. Only that blond could make your insides fill with butterflies every time those eyes looked your way, make goose-bumps rise every time he so much as brushed against you. It was absolute torture, it was horrible, and it was so… you just…

You _loved_ it.

You couldn't help but love it, love Kenny, love him for everything his is and just – "_Hahh_- Fuck, Ken, slow down."

The smirk that curled up on those pale pink lips made your heart flutter. "Sorry, babe." Kenny purrs, leaning down a nipping softly at your damp neck, you close your eyes, shallow breaths leaving you as he begins to thrusts shallowly, yet ever so persistently into you. Causing friction against your sensitive insides – this wasn't you. This was what he did to you, what he made you. And you loved it. You loved it with every bit of your being because holy fuck – no one had ever made you feel so good in your whole motherfucking life.

His hands runs down your sides, nimble fingers stopping to tweak your nipples before moving on further, lips still marking your neck, leaving hickies and bite marks in his wake. The soft nips cause your breath to catch at times, your hands reaching up and curling into his pale blond hair. It was so soft, feathery soft like his touches.

His thrust sped up in pace slightly, causing you to suck your bottom lip into your mouth. You hear a groan from above and open your eyes a bit, watching Kenny as he watched you. You knew what you did to him, too. And you were glad you weren't the only one who was relishing in it, glad that you also made his heart flutter, and his throat constrict. It made you feel good to know you made _him _feel good.

Ever so good.

He continues his onslaught, brushing against all of the right places, making you tense and convulse around him and moan, groan, scream – _anything_ to express how absolutely amazing, how full you felt. He made you feel complete, whether he was over top of you in bed, or simply walking beside you in the street. He made you feel _complete_.

Ever so complete.

He brushes against that spot inside you and you arch your back, hearing him breathe a small whisper of 'beautiful' into your ear as he sucks on your earlobe, still driving inside of you. He keeps it up, too, hand slithering down your chest once more and gripping onto your dripping arousal finger brushing against the tip in just the right way – "_Fuck_. Don't _stop_." - is all you can get out, nothing but a mere whisper amongst the grunts, groans, and moans that felt the room of your small, shared one bedroom apartment.

"Never."

And you know it's true. The man above you – torturing you, making you feel such things inside your body that you wondered if this Adonis like man above you was even _human _– wouldn't ever stop pleasuring you. As long as you asked for more and told him what you wanted. He'd never stop, he'd never give up.

A few more thrust and pumps of his fist against your blushing arousal and you can feel that tight coil in the pit of your stomach, burning and curling and – fuck! You need this, you both need this – want this. "Do it, let go – for me." He husks into your ear, with a nip at your jawline. And you do, because you'd do anything to make the man above you happy. Anything. And you let go. It's euphoric, it's heavenly, and it feels _damn_ good as you finally come, spilling yourself onto him and yourself. He finishes a few moments after you, a few more thrusts inside of you and he was done.

Sighing he collapses beside you, arm wrapped around your waist, "Fuck." He murmurs, "'S good."

You can't help the smirk that curls onto your own lip, "I know." You whisper back, pulling his head onto your chest. You guys'll clean up when you wake up. You'll be sore, and he'll be spent but either way you'll get it done.

You always do.

God damn it all, you really loved Kenny McCormick, don't you?


End file.
